Put This In Your Pipe And Smoke It

I've never had a problem with a burst pipe. I now have a problem with a burst pipe. Yeppers, I walked into the house and heard the sound of a rushing stream, making its way from the top of a snowcapped mountain, tripping over rocks and splashing through the forest on its way to the river in the valley below. Alas, the waterfall I heard was cascading from the ceiling of my basement onto the floor and rising faster than the afternoon tide. Didn't I have my own personal indoor lake just last September?

Naturally, with no where to go but up, the gentle waterfall created a puddle which became a pond, which was becoming an ocean in the basement. When I got home it was about two feet deep. Too deep to get to the water valve to shut everything off or lift the stack pipe to let everything go down the drain. Not without waders or some serious hip boots. Maybe I should turn off the electricity. Good idea. Except it's probably not smart to trying flipping the switches while standing in all that water. Did I mention how cold it's been? Someone will need to turn the power off from the meter box outside. Maybe I should call the plumber first.

Oh, good, the plumber can't come for three hours.

Not to worry, I can call the fire department. They probably know what to do with a water problem like this. They use enough of it in their line of work.

If you're taking notes, make a big asterisk now and write: DO NOT CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT. You have been warned.

The problem with fire departments is that they are mostly staffed by men. And men always say they can fix "it." No matter what "it" is. They're from Mars that way.

Stupidly, I called up the FD and said, "I've got a busted pipe in my basement and there's two feet of water that's rising, can you help me?" The dispatcher, a woman, who was clearly deranged, said brightly, "Sure, we'll have someone out there soon." No questions asked.

She should have said, "Sorry. Unless you have a real fire emergency, we are not good with water. So hang up and 1) call the village water department and have them shut off the water to your house from the street, 2) because our guys won't walk around in a water filled basement to find the valve, 3) since they could be electrocuted. 4) Besides they won't be bringing their boots anyway. 5) Oh, and while you're at it, you should also call the electric company and have them come out and shut off the electricity to the house as a precaution. 6) Did I mention that we don't mess with electricity.

Is it just me, or does anyone else think that the FD should know how to do things like shut off the water to your house from the main valve on the parkway? Not to mention that one of them should also know how to shut off the electricity to your house from the meter.

What if there was a fire?

Anyway a pumper arrives and two FD guys get out. I notice they're not wearing boots or making an attempt to put any on. "You'll really need to have boots on."

"We don't have boots with us."

"But you'll need boots to get to the water valve and the stack pipe."

"We don't like to walk around in water because there's a chance of electrocution."

I tried to tell them that I'd had the house rewired so that the electrical outlets were five feet high. They just assumed I was lying.

Meanwhile, they went into the house and shined a light on the ceiling where the water was leaking through the paneling. Then they came back outside.

"There's too much water. We can't get to anything without shutting off the electricity. And we don't have boots." Duh.

"Can't you just shut the electricity off to the house at the meter?"

"No, too dangerous."

"So why don't you have boots with you?"

No answer.

At that point in time I should have sent them home. Without boots, obviously they couldn't walk around in the water to shut off any valves or lift the stack pipe to let the water drain. Besides, with the electricity on, it didn't matter if they had boots on anyway.

After almost another hour and a half of water filling up the basement, the PD had an "AHA" moment and called the village to get the sewer guys out to shut off the water from the parkway. I called Commonweath Edison myself to have them come out and shut off the electricity.

So the water guys came to turn the water off. The electrical guys came to shut off the juice.

And the firefighters did abso-freaking-lutely nothing that was useful. I pointed this out to the captain who stopped by. I suggested that the next time someone has a burst pipe they should be told to call the Village to shut off the water. And call the electric company to shut off the power. He said he'd mention this at their next status meeting.

Cooking With My Brother the Family Chef

My brother is cooking dinner tonight. Something light he said.

Start with a couple of cans of water packed tuna, drained. [I don't think you can buy Italian canned tuna -- oh wait, turns out you can -- but any brand will do.]

Add the zest of one and a half regular, not huge, lemons and the juice of said lemons. Or you can add more if you want to. We're not rigid here.

Add three tablespoons of capers. After carefully measuring out nine teaspoons because a tablespoon is too big to fit through the top of the caper jar, just dump in the whole bottle.

Add artichoke hearts to taste -- three cans tonight, drained over the sink.

Add some extra virgin olive oil to taste [about 1/4 cup per can of tuna].

Have a long discussion about not using EVOO to cook, even though Rachael Ray does.

Add just one clove of garlic -- instead of lots of cloves of garlic [According to my bro, "I don't want to spend the rest of the night in the bathroom]

Add Kosher salt to taste.

Chop in about a 1/4 cup Italian flat leaf parsley, right at the last minute.

Stir all those ingredients in a circle in a bowl. Around and around and around. Add some pasta, you know, something small and compact like fusilli, gemilli, penne rigate or rotini, anything but linguini. Dump on a platter and serve.

That's the entree. I think it's the Italian version of tuna noodle casserole.

Tonight's vegetable for this light meal is one giant artichoke per person except for the children who are getting mac and cheese with broccoli.

I thought we would be dipping the giant artichoke leaves in garlic butter or olive oil, but, no, my bro is making bagnacauda, which is almost as hard to pronounce as it is to spell. By the way, the spelling here was a group effort and may not have been successful. A quick check of Google could solve the problem, but why? I call it "that Italian stuff we dip the leaves in." Basically it's olive oil, butter and anchovies heated until they emulsify, but make sure you don't burn the butter.

I'm glad we're eating light tonight, since we had a big breakfast and a substantial lunch already today. I'd hate to worry about the extra calories.

Cold Karma

The high today is below zero. My trusty Jeep, which starts first time, every time, has been running nicely.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday the CHECK ENGINE light came on in my car while I was driving. Bad timing. Hey, I'm busy. Today I had a 10 AM hip doc appointment in a suburb far far away. [Details in a later entry.] This was an appointment that I had waited to get for a long time. An appointment that would determine when I could have surgery. An appointment I had to cancel.

Why did I have to cancel? After the CHECK ENGINE light came on, I realized I'd probably have to get my car to the mechanic, but I procrastinated all day. Besides, what does CHECK ENGINE mean anyway? FIX IT NOW OR ELSE? Or WHEN YOU GET A CHANCE? I turned down the radio and didn't hear funny noises in the engine so I figured I had some time.

Then something else happened. A slap upside the head if you will. As it got dark out I turned on my headlights. After I had been driving for about ten minutes they didn't seem very bright, so I flicked them on and off again. They were on, but I got more light from the street lamps. Turns out the headlights were the least of my problems.

I had my windshield wipers on because the snow was blowing across the road making it hard to see. I noticed the wipers were flapping like a 70 year old stripper dancing to "I'm So Excited." The one on my side of the car was especially animated. I was thinking perhaps something was wrong, just as the entire blade flew off into traffic and I couldn't see s**t. Hmm, better pull over or prepare to die.

Not wanting to just sit there helplessly, I turned my defroster up full blast so that any snow landing on the windshield would immediately evaporate. That seemed to fix the problem temporarily. [Thank you American engineering for all the heat.] I limped into a gas station to get a new blade, but the guys inside didn't want to come out. Too cold. Hey, whatever happened to the good old days when they HAD to come out to pump your gas? I even pulled right up to the door. [I thought about flashing some titola -- until I remembered the visual of the 70 year old stripper, not to mention having to explain to 911 how a nipple got stuck to the side mirror.]

So I drove three miles back to my neighborhood filling station, figuring they could give me a ride home if necessary. How long would it take to replace a wiper blade?

Unfortunately, the ride home became necessary pretty quickly. As soon as I drove into the station and waved at the mechanic, the car died. At first I wasn't sure it was dead, because all the security lights were flashing like holiday decorations. Then I remembered, that's my Jeep's death rattle.

The mechanic came out with one of those Life Sucks and Then You Die smiles on his face, shaking his head. He looked in my car at the needle on the electrical gage which was hovering on life support and told me the alternator was probably kaput so the battery, my new last summer battery, had died.

"I could tell something was wrong with your battery when you drove up because your headlights were so dim. You probably thought your vision was going." Actually I just thought the lights were covered with road crap.

The good news is that the blade is an easy fix and the parts guy had already dropped off a new alternator while I was waiting for a ride home.

The bad news is that I need a new alternator. Ka-Ching. And my car won't be fixed until long after my hip doc appointment.

Good times.

It's Not Always 9 Degrees in Chicago

According to a local weatherman, this week is traditionally the coldest week in Chicago. I can confirm that.

So here's photo evidence I took to prove that for at least one day last year there wasn't a foot of snow on the ground and a windchill of -30.

I was sitting on the porch of my friend's house on a rare spring day that was warm enough to enjoy outdoors. Everybody had gone inside to get ready for dinner in the backyard. I stayed behind just to enjoy the sun for a few more minutes. It was one of those perfect 70 degree afternoons, with a warm breeze bringing the scent of new grass, the fragrance of flowers, and the sounds of "Na na na na na." from people living in Arizona.

But the grilled steaks, baked potatoes, sliced tomatoes and steaming corn were beckoning, so I didn't stay too much longer. Food beats weather in my world. I should go back and take a picture from that same angle today, but why freeze my arse just to get a picture for you to compare.

Seriously.

Law & Order Forest Preserve Style

Today was my day in forest preserve court. Yes, they actually set aside a special courtroom just to prosecute criminal picnic behavior. The presiding judge made fun of almost everybody's name and gave instructions so fast that they were almost unintelligible. "Hendricks? James Hendricks? Is Jimi Hendrix in the building?"

"Ifyou'reguiltysay'Here'andstepupifyou'repleadingnotguiltysaynotguiltyandi'lltakethosecaseslastanddon'tforgetthatthecourtcostshavegoneup. . . "

For those of you who missed my play by play of last December's tete a tete with the forest preserve dipstick posing as a member of law enforcement, here's the shorter version:

Mrs. Linklater pulled into a virtually deserted forest preserve picnic area to use one of their garbage cans on her way downtown to have lunch with friends. Nothing worse than handing over your car to the valet parker with a pile of fast food bags on the passenger seat. She put her car in park, left the engine running for warmth, removed her seat belt, and began tossing empty bags of Micky D's, Wendy's, Dunk 'n Donuts, Brown's Chicken and anything more than a couple of weeks old into one of Cook County's shiny silver forest preserve cans.

After cleaning her car, she moved it about a car length away from the can, put it in park again, left the engine running, and started putting on her make up before heading downtown.

A forest preserve squad car pulled up alongside her and said she had to park perpendicularly. And do it now. He didn't say, "Next time, please park perpendicularly." Mainly because "perpendicularly" has too many syllables. His point was that Mrs. L had to rearrange the position of her car right then. To make a long story short, Mrs. L took exception to the cop's orders, since she was just using the garbage can. Oh, and putting on her makeup. He took exception to her exception. "Make up your mind. Are you using the garbage can or putting on your make up? Driving or parking." She accused him of harassment. He demanded to see her license and proof of insurance and informed her she was looking at three tickets.

She got tired of jawing with him and told him to go ahead, write the tickets. He only wrote two. Her car was in park, but the engine was running, so he gave her a citation for not having her seatbelt on. She also didn't give him a current insurance card, so he cited her for that.

In the courtroom, she showed the judge that she did have insurance, so that ticket was immediately dismissed.

Even more surprising, the seatbelt ticket went away almost as quickly. Apparently the cop knew while he was writing it that the seatbelt ticket was bogus, because he didn't put the whole date on it. Only the month and the year. He must of known that Mrs. Linklater would show up in court prepared to rip him a new body part for being such a jerk, complete with a word for word account of their conversation. It's worth noting that the cop did put the complete date -- month, day, and year -- on the proof of insurance ticket. So he knew what he wasn't doing.

Mrs. L discovered the mistake herself about five minutes before she was called up in front of the judge. Thinking she'd missed something she asked the person sitting next to her to read her the date on the seatbelt ticket. "It says 'December, 2008.'" "But what's the date?" "It doesn't say the actual date, just the month and year."

Of course, Mrs. Linklater didn't put two and two together until she was standing in front of the judge. He leaned over and asked the prosecutor, "What's the date on this ticket?" The prosecutor looked at the ticket and said, "December, 2008." The judge barked at her, "What day?!"

Mrs. Linklater piped up, "December 4th, 2008."

The judge looked at Mrs. L like she was lint and said, "SHUSH."

"No date. This case is dismissed unless you have something you just have to add, Ms. Linklater." I could tell by the sarcasm dripping off his puffy lips that telling my compelling story about what the dumbass squirrel and tree cop did was lost to posterity. Except for this entry.

Rats.

Time For A Pimp

Pimp Number FOUR:
PK over at July's Hazy Motives tapped me for the Superior Scribbler award awhile back. After pimping the first three bloggers who nominated me, I'm just now getting around to the Mad Man from New York. Remember how your mother always cautioned you about playing with fire? PK is what she was talking about.

Before continuing, I'm required to give you the Surgeon General's Warning: PK's blog may be hazardous to your health. You brain may seize up trying to unravel his complicated metaphors. His never-ending angst can leave burn marks if you stand too close.

He is currently a VP creative director at an infamous NY ad agency. I was once a VP creative director at the Chicago office of a different NY ad agency. So, in some ways I can feel his pain. In other ways, I'm sure that a chunk of it is self-inflicted.

He's brilliant and insane at the same time. Also, outrageous, creative, spoiled, self indulgent, entertaining, outre, puzzling, insightful, confusing, and clearly marching to an offbeat drummer.

He's got the freewheeling spirit of a toddler in a mansuit. Just be ready to duck when he needs to burp.

New Decorative Photograph

I changed the picture on this blog again. This pic is from a place much farther west than the last one -- a view looking southeast toward the Bridger Mountains and the Bozeman Valley from my friend's house in Montana. I took it with my first digital camera, a Fuji, that I still miss because it fit in my pocket and I could hold it up and take pictures of myself with it. My profile picture, for instance.

I lost that camera in a freak airline accident. For some reason a flight attendant gave me an extra can of cranberry juice. Instead of drinking it, I put it unopened into the same bag as my camera. Do not ask me why I was carrying a camera in the same plastic bag as my juice, magazines, and tissue. I was an idiot.

Somehow, the can got punctured -- a mystery that will never be solved -- the juice leaked out and my l'il Fuji camera was ruined. After discovering the travesty, I remember looking at the can to see how the juice got out, but only finding a strange, pencil sized hole in the middle.

My brother sent me his Nikon D100 when he upgraded, for which I will be forever grateful. I can use all my fancy lenses on it and actually look like a serious photographer. But I can't just stick it in my pocket on my way to a party, a ballgame, or a plane.

I certainly couldn't put it in a plastic bag with a can of cranberry juice.

Screw the BCS, Ole Miss Should Be Ranked Number One

Let's take a moment to think like one of the six computers that determine the BCS rankings. Or the BS rankings, depending on how frustrated you are this time of year. Clear your mind. In fact, remove your entire brain and set it on the ground. You won't need it.

First: don't count any losses in the first five games of the season. That's how one of the BCS computers does it. Second: double the points for each win in the last five games against opponents whose mascots are birds. Now, subtract quarterbacks under 6'4" with blue eyes. Multiply by running backs who haven't been up on drug charges in the last six months. Divide by two pregnant cheerleaders. Finally, count how many pepperonis are on your pizza. Congratulations! You've just cracked the code for determining the BCS rankings.

On the other hand, I've got another equally logical system that's worth considering, especially since Ole Miss just knocked the poop out of Texas Tech in the Cotton Bowl, 47 to 34. It would have been 47 to 27 if Ole Miss hadn't subbed an intramural squad in the last few minutes.

I realize that in a few days, Florida will play Oklahoma for the BCS Championship. But I have already determined what the final rankings should be before that game is played. My brilliant method goes something like this:

Oklahoma has one loss -- to Texas
Florida has one loss -- to Ole Miss

During the season all the following teams were ranked number one or two at some point, except for Ole Miss:

Ole Miss beat Florida [just to remind you]
Texas beat Oklahoma
Oklahoma beat Texas Tech
Texas Tech beat Texas
Ole Miss just beat Texas Tech in a big upset today.

So Ole Miss should be ranked Number One.

How big was that upset? Let's see, Ole Miss beat Tech which beat Texas which beat Oklahoma. Three degrees of separation. So by the laws of logic and probability invested in me, that's the same as Ole Miss beating Oklahoma.

So with my infallible thinking, I consider the Ole Miss/Tech upset big, especially if Oklahoma beats Florida next week.

Upgrade that upset to huge if Florida beats Oklahoma. Since there's no degree of separation between Ole Miss and Florida.

Okay nitpickers, Ole Miss lost four games during the season. But three of those were to ranked teams by a total of 12 points.

And since when did who beat who ever matter to the BCS computers? If the computers could count, Texas would have played for the Big 12 championship.

In fact, undefeated Utah, currently destroying Alabama, could argue that they should be playing for the BCS championship, but that's so logical my brain might explode. Especially since I think Ole Miss should be ranked #1.

Meanwhile, back to defending the Rebels' four losses. Have I mentioned that Ole Miss beat Florida, the Gators' only loss? Ole Miss also knocked #18 LSU off the planet. And barely lost to Alabama when the Tide was #2. Still, the Rebels didn't crack the top 25 until their second to last game of the season. This is probably because the SEC is so strong that the computers couldn't figure out how to compute the rankings for so many teams from one conference.

According to Wikipedia, "[T]he Rebels finished 2nd in the [SEC] West, knocked off the last 2 national champions on the road in No. 4 Florida and No. 18 LSU and ended the regular season on a five-game win streak." Make that six after today.

Clearly, Ole Miss may have the makings of a decent football program for the first time in years. At least, for the first time since Eli Manning played for their last bowl team, five years ago. But before Eli, pickin's were pretty slim, especially after his father, Archie, graduated.

Arguably, the Ole Miss first year coach, Houston Null, should have won somebody's 2008 coach of the year. He took over a 3-8 team and went 9-4. Nevertheless, he still got to share the SEC coaching award with Nick Saban [Alabama] and Bobby Johnson [Vanderbilt].

Before the 2008 season there was an article about Ole Miss QB Jevan Snead in Sports Illustrated. As I recall, Texas native Snead was initially recruited by Florida but decided to go to Texas when he heard they were recruiting Tim Tebow. At Texas he was relegated to playing behind Colt McCoy, so he transferred to Ole Miss, where head coach, Ed Orgeron, convinced him he would have a job.

Next thing, Orgeron got fired and Snead had to prove himself to the new guy, Houston Nutt. The good news is that, after sitting out his transfer year, Snead had three years of eligibility. After a nervous 3-4 start at the beginning of the season, he settled down and his rocket arm took the Rebels to today's bowl game against Tech, which the former two time high school All American won going away.

So, as far as I'm concerned, Ole Miss is the best team in the country. And don't get me started on the best quarterback.

I'll just have to wait until next year for the rest of the world to come to the same conclusion.